And, as the lad spoke, he joined his hands above his head, and dived down into the still, black water, and when the children next caught a glimpse of his dark head, he was well on his way towards the rocky, bush-grown shore of the Isle of Ghosts.
[CHAPTER IV]
PLAYING THE GHOST
FOR two long, weary hours Tonie and Blonda waited behind the boulder by the lake side. Once only, at the end of the first half-hour, Tonie stole into the pine wood at the back of the house, and, under the deep shadow of the trees, glanced up at the windows, and saw a light in one after another, as the men pursued their search for the money.
When the light flashed through the window of Blonda's little room, the boy noticed that the glass was broken away. Close to the casement, a tall birch tree reared its stately form, and Tonie understood at once how Freskel had contrived to get into the house, and wondered at his ingenuity and courage. To come to the help of the besieged children, he must have climbed the long, straight, silvery stem like a squirrel, and then swung out from a bough until he could grasp the window ledge, gain a footing there, and dash through the glass.
"Was it not bold of him, and clever too?" said Tonie, when he rejoined his sister in the niche where she was hiding, and told her how Freskel had managed to come to their assistance.
"Yes; and he came as God's answer to our prayer for help," said Blonda, with kindling eyes. "Tonie, surely thou and I can never doubt God again. How frightened we were! We knew not what to do, or whither to go, but no sooner had we cried to the good Lord to send us help than we heard the crash of the window, and down came Freskel like an angel from the skies. And knowest thou, Tonie, what was in my mind as we opened the door so quietly, so easily, and passed out? It seemed to me that, perchance, thus felt the apostle Peter when God sent the angel at night to strike off his chains, and open barred doors for him, and lead him forth out of prison, and from the death that threatened him."
Tonie gave a little chuckle. "I know not how Peter felt," said he, "but think you not, little sister, that Freskel Valden is rather a queer angel?"
"I know not—I care not!" replied the child, peering out earnestly across the water, while Tonie, standing up, watched, for fear of surprise, the bit of pine wood behind which stood the cottage. "Does it matter what an angel looks like, so long as he is the messenger of God, and comes to our help? Could one of the white-robed and flying ones do more?"